Ti Amo
by Richonne Writing Network
Summary: Michonne was searching for an escape. Rick was looking to be an inspired photographer. What they found was each other. A spur of the moment trip to Venice turns into the love of a lifetime. Part of the Richonne Writing Network 2018 Holiday Series.
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome to another writing collaboration from the Richonne Writing Network._

 _We put a dash of summer in this collaborative treat to bring some heat to those cold winter nights at Christmastime._

 _This Holiday Gift has been brought to you by **love devil movies baby** and **cranesinthesky**. Both writers put a lot of love and hard work into bringing you this story, so it would be amazing if you left some love for them in your reviews._

 _To find more works from these talented writers, go to our favorite authors section or check out their tumblr pages._

 _Happy Holidays and we hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **written by: ldmb**

After the fifth phone call, Michonne Bodin shut her cell completely off. There'd be hell to pay later, of that she was sure, and her little act of rebellion was going to cost her dearly. For the first time in her life, she found she didn't care. She was _leaving_. She boarded the plane without looking back.

Sacramento was just a microscopic speck a thousand miles away, a distant memory already. Her parents' expectations, her boyfriend's endless micromanaging, law school, all of it—it was behind her, at least for now. With every passing moment Italy got closer.

Her parents had questioned her choice for a summer vacation, wondering why she would want to visit one of the world's most romantic cities alone. They'd tried to convince her that she could see Venice one day with her husband in tow. Michonne couldn't think of a less appealing idea.

Just once, she wanted something for herself, not for her mom and dad, nor for Mike. She wanted to wander the narrow alleyways on her own schedule, explore the waterways with no one breathing down her neck. She didn't want to be undermined at every turn, pressured every morning, pushed into a life that seemed predestined for her, but one she'd never wanted.

She wanted to live. Venice seemed like a good place to start.

Armed with a rudimentary knowledge of Italian, her savings from a whole undergraduate degree's worth of summer jobs, and a suitcase of clothing, Michonne was ready. She rushed from the plane, breathing in the air, listening to the cacophony of hundreds of voices all speaking at once. It was chaos, a confusion of checked bags, water taxis, and asking for directions in her bastardized version of Italian. It took an hour to get out of the airport and down the long road that led to the island of Venice. Her phone didn't ring once.

Smiling, Michonne stepped out of her taxi and onto the cobbled streets, the entire summer in front of her.

-l-l-l-l-

The shutter of Rick Grimes' camera clicked open and shut as he knelt on the stone roads, his lens aimed out into the canals. The teal of the water, the red of the brick, the pastel colored houses rising up and twisting round into some great labyrinth were everything he'd hoped they'd be, a veritable buffet for the senses. He needed to be careful to not blow his whole budget in the first week alone. Everywhere there were things to smell, touch, taste, music to hear, beauty to photograph. He drank it in thirstily, absorbing this city as though he could take it all with him, back to the concrete jungle he called home.

His parents had encouraged the trip, hoping it would satisfy the wanderlust inside his soul. No such luck. Every face that entered the lens of his camera, every building, flower, or subject only hardened his resolve. This was what he wanted for his life. It didn't matter if it meant pinching every penny, counting out euros, or dimes, or whatever currency required to make end meets. He would never be happy unless he was out here in the world.

He leapt to his feet, strolling down the streets, his stomach growling, camera bouncing beneath his arm. He had half a mind to buy some gelato, his third cone of the day, but the fraction of his conscious that was responsible demanded he eat something more substantial. He headed towards the Piazza San Marco to find a restaurant, ready to burn more of a hole in his pocket. Merchant stands lined the pathway there, drawing his eye. Perhaps his mother would like one of Venice's famous masks. He'd gotten his affection for beautiful things from her. He was browsing the vendors when he spotted her.

It was only the back of her he could see, but she stuck out instantly, even in a sea of gold and crimson and ivory. Her skin was a dark, lovely brown, smooth and shining in the Venetian sunlight. Her long locs were tossed carelessly over one shoulder, piled all to one side. She moved gracefully, confidentially, as though she were dancing through the crowd. Under the guise of taking a photo, Rick raised his camera to study her more closely. She turned her head just the slightest, offering her profile as she gazed at the scenery. Through his lens he could see the contours of her face, her pouted lips, the curves of her nose, long, thick lashes. He was photographing her before he could stop himself, compelled to capture her beauty before she moved away.

She clutched a suitcase in one hand, looking to and fro, her eyes wide. Delight was clear on her face, even though he could only see part of it. She wore that joy well, seeming to glow in that crowded square. He wanted to talk to her, needed to. Lowering his lens, Rick made his decision, cutting through stands, attempting to get to her.

From the canal, one of the water taxis released its occupants to the world. A flood of tourists crested over the Piazza. Rick doubled his efforts, craning his head, searching for the dark-skinned muse who'd captivated him so.

She was nowhere to be seen.

He stood in the center of the square, his heart sinking as hundreds of people milled about him. An afternoon of searching the maze of alleys around the square yielded similarly disappointing results. Wherever that beautiful girl had gone, she was lost to him.

Rick attempted to shake off the disappointment to no avail. There was no reason to feel so connected to a stranger, but Rick had learned as a boy to never go against his instincts. There was something about this girl, and he was determined to figure out what.

He didn't expect that fate would walk her right back into his life.

-l-l-l-l-

Morning was Michonne's favorite time in Venice. The tourists were not quite up yet, and the boats bobbed lazily along the canals. Michonne spent a week of morning riding the water taxis, sipping on coffee and simply watching. There was so much to watch always, and she could not get enough.

This morning, she wound through the alleyways, peering into the shops. A basket of peonies, pale pink and delicate, caught her attention. She stopped to enjoy a flower shop, taking in the colors and the shapes.

From behind her, she could hear the faint clicking of a camera. Curious as to who else was up with the sun, she turned to look. He was stationed at the mouth of the road, bending to photograph the bread hanging in the window of a bakery. He moved from subject to subject, bounding between them with sheer delight, as though the camera were a part of him and not simply a tool. Michonne stared for a moment, wondering that this world looked like through his eyes, what an artist saw when they looked upon Venice. She had an absurd desire to join him, to ask if she might peak through his lens, might look at the photos he had taken. She was still staring when the lens turned suddenly in her direction.

All movement seemed to cease. Michonne waited with baited breath. She was caught, plain and simple. Attempting to salvage her dignity, she raised her hand, offering a small greeting. The stranger lowered the camera from his face, waving tentatively at her, even as he smiled brightly. The sight of him caught her completely off guard. For one thing, he was _young_ , her age most likely. His hair was dark and curly, dusting the back of his neck. His skin was tan, highlighting bright blue eyes that were trained directly on her. For a moment, she supposed he might be Italian. His features hinted at it, his nose in particular. Then he spoke.

"Morning," his accent was unabashedly American, tinged with a hint of something deep and gravelly and possibly southern.

"Buongiorno," she greeted, smiling back at him.

He took this as an invitation, hurrying over towards her until there were mere inches apart. She could smell the clean scent of his soap, make out his damp curls up close. There was something almost like awe on his face.

"I'm Rick," he extended a hand. Michonne accepted it, brushing her fingers along his calloused palm. He clasped her hand tightly, surprising her by bringing it to his lips to kiss the back instead of shaking it.

A giggle burst forth from her lips, girlish and high and deathly embarrassing. Rick surprised her again by blushing.

"I'm sorry—" he stammered, lowering her hand. "I don't know why I did that."

Michonne adjusted her hand, catching his and raising it to her own mouth. He flushed even deeper crimson when she pressed her lips to the back of his knuckles. He let out a shaky laugh of his own.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked, tilting his head at her.

Michonne shrugged. "When in Rome…"

"Or Venice I guess," Rick grinned.

"I'm Michonne," she introduced herself.

"It's nice to meet you," he shook her hand properly this time. "You're American?"

"California," she confirmed. "You?"

"Georgia initially. But my mom and dad moved us up to Queens when I was a kid. Wanted to work on their art." Rick tilted his head again, studying her. Michonne flushed.

"You're an artist too?" she gestured to his camera.

Rick laughed. "Trying to be. They aren't crazy about the idea of me being a penniless photographer, but they support it as best they can."

Michonne felt the sting of jealousy. "What are you photographing?" she asked.

"Everything," he grinned again, wide and happy. "Got a whole summer here. I'm planning on taking pictures of everything I can."

"I'm spending the summer too," it was out of Michonne's mouth before she could consider the wisdom of disclosing her plans to a complete stranger. "I saved up for years. I even learned Italian."

Rick was clearly impressed. "You learned Italian. Well damn." He paused to look at her, smiling again. "I think I speak about three words."

"You came out here without knowing the language?" Michonne laughed.

Rick shrugged. "I like to live wild," he deadpanned. "Been out here for two weeks, and I'm making it work."

They giggled together in the middle of the street. A silence stretched between them, loaded with something Michonne could not quite name. Logically, this is where their correspondence should come to an end. She knew better than to spend time in a foreign country with a stranger, especially when she had a boyfriend at home.

"What are you doing today?" she asked Rick, taking a step closer to him.

"I was thinking of going to Burano," Rick gestured vaguely beyond the walls, to the canals and waterways connecting the islands. "Want to come? Help me learn Italian?" he smiled, his cheeks going pink, a hopeful expression on his face.

"Only if you teach me how to take good pictures." Michonne's eyes darted to his camera again.

Rick looked delighted at the prospect. "It's a deal, Michonne," he shook her hand.

"Are you going to kiss it again?" she joked.

"If you want me to," Rick didn't miss a beat. This time, it was Michonne who began to blush.

"Should we go?" she fiddled with her hair, suddenly nervous.

Rick lifted a finger. "One second." He bounded away, disappearing into the shop behind them. Michonne watched, baffled, until he emerged clutching one of the peonies she'd been admiring. He presented it to her with a flourish, tucking it behind her ear. "Would you mind?" he gestured.

Michonne moved nervously, allowing herself to be posed. Rick disappeared behind his camera again, snapping away.

"Should I be doing something?" she asked, heart pounding.

Rick glanced at the screen on his camera, grinning brightly. "No," he told her. "You're perfect." He reached for her hand. "Want to get going?"

Nodding, Michonne took it. "Andiamo," she announced, giggling again as she followed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **written by: cranesinthesky**

"Are you ready to try again?" Michonne raised an eyebrow suggestively as she glanced at him, a playful smirk on her face.

Rick took a deep breath, his gaze steadily on her. "I think I'm ready."

Michonne smiled at him. "You're doing great," she said assuringly, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly in hers. "Here we go."

Rick nodded, giving her the go ahead.

"Sedia."

"Chair."

"Barca."

"Boat."

"Pasticceria."

"Um," he paused, averting his eyes so he could try and conjure up the translation. Michonne had spent the last hour teaching him more Italian phrases and words as they walked through the residential area of Barano and he wanted nothing more to make her proud.

Although it was hard to concentrate when his tutor was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"You can do this," Michonne encouraged, biting back a smile. She loved the focused look on his face, how his eyebrows knitted together in concentration and how he squinted those irresistible blue eyes as he tried to remember from their lesson.

"Pastry shop?" he finally answered, raising his eyebrows in a hopeful edge.

Michonne giggled. The girlish, embarrassing giggle from earlier when they had first met had disappeared and after spending the last few hours with him, she found herself relaxed and calm. Rick was great, charming and easy to talk to. Her heart would still beat wildly around him, especially when he gave her that look like she was the only other person in the world.

"You sure?" she asked, unable to hide her smile.

Rick nodded. "I'm… sure," he tried to say confidently, but she could hear the slight doubt creep into his voice.

"Three out of three," Michonne graded him, the smile on her face growing even wider. He returned it and she felt her heart nearly double in beats. There goes that look again. "You did alright."

"I have a good teacher," he remarked, winking down at her. She blushed in response, but that didn't falter her smile.

It wasn't until he felt her thumb caress the back of his hand did he realized that they were still holding hands. He looked down between them as they continued to walk, whiffs of freshly made dough swirling through the air around them.

He liked this and secretly hoped that it would never end. Fortunately, they had the whole summer ahead of them. He had always dreamed of visiting this beautiful, bright city but never would have thought that he would find this gorgeous, intelligent woman in the heart of it. Over the last few hours, he had opened up to her in ways that he had never opened up to a woman before, not even to ex-girlfriends. There was just something about her that made her different.

"Don't forget your end of the deal," she reminded him, pointing to his camera in his other hand. "I intend to be an expert by the time the summer is over."

"And you will be. How about we start now?"

They stopped walking and found themselves by the canal, the boats tied to the pier and bobbing in the water as a gentle breeze blew through. Houses painted in vibrant colors were only a few feet away from them, standing tall against the orange lit sky as the sun set in the distance. Kids ran down the sidewalks and yelled excitedly amongst each other, zooming past Rick and Michonne as they went about their adventures.

"What about that?" she asked, pointing to a canal floating underneath the bridge up ahead.

He smiled, excitement filling him to the pores. "That's beautiful. Here."

He handed the camera to her and instructed her to angle it correctly. She did as he said, her breath catching as his hands moved over hers softly. She positioned the lens just the way he said and, once confident in her attempts, snapped the shot. She nervously pulled the camera down and took a look at the screen.

It was gorgeous. At least to her amateur eyes, it was. She could only imagine what it looked like to his keen eye.

He peered over her shoulder and when he didn't answer right away, she grew nervous.

"Well?" she asked, afraid to even look at his reaction. She tore her eyes away from the screen, however, and forced herself to look at him, hoping that she didn't disappoint. She only wanted to make him proud.

To her relief, he broke out into a huge grin and his eyes crinkled in the corners. She had only known him for a few hours, but she knew that when his smile reached to his eyes and his eyes crinkled in the corners, it was a genuine happiness.

"Michonne, I think it's better than any other picture I have ever taken," he said and she blushed for what seemed to the hundredth time that day. "It's absolutely beautiful."

"I have a good teacher," she commented. She was about to hand the camera back to him when she stopped, a sudden thought running across her mind.

"Can you turn slightly for me?" she asked.

He frowned in response, but did what he was told and turned so that his side was to her. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she took a few steps back so that there was a distance between them. He missed her already.

She raised the camera to her eye, determined to get the shot. He was standing by the canal, his hands in his pockets with the sunset in the distance behind him. The glow sat perfectly around him, highlighting his profile and making the perfect shot. She snapped the photo without saying anything. One glance at the screen caused her to inhale sharply.

He was beautiful.

"Everything okay?" he asked curiously.

"Perfect," she answered, walking up to him and handing him the camera.

She watched as his face went from surprise to mesmerized to pride as his eyes scoped out every detail of her photography skills. What took him years to learn, she only picked up within a few tries. She was that brilliant.

"You're great, you know that?" he told her, smiling over at her. His eyes crinkled in the corners again and he had a look of aw on his face.

She reached out to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. His hair had dried fully now and the strands felt silky between her fingers. "Anche tu."

Once the sun had gone down and the dark sky was filled with tiny dots of stars, they made their way back to their hotels, but not before making a pit stop at a nearby gelato shop. They walked slowly with the delicious treats in hand, not wanting the night to end just yet.

"Where are you going tomorrow?" Michonne asked, glancing over at him as he lifted a spoonful of chocolate gelato towards his pink lips. What she wouldn't give just to have a taste..

"Anywhere where you are," he didn't miss a beat.

She felt her cheeks go warm. "I would like to visit Saint Mark's Basilica."

"It's a date then," he said, but quickly caught himself. "I mean… I didn't mean a date, I meant…"

She stopped him, looking him in the eyes. "It's a date."

A tinge of guilt flooded through her as she thought about her boyfriend, Mike, back home for the first time all day. After spending time with Rick- this amazing man- Mike had become an afterthought, pushed to the back of her mind with the rest of her reality. She knew that she shouldn't be with a stranger all of the way on the other side of the world but something about Rick was different. He reeled her in without even trying and she had falling before she could catch herself.

She was in a whirlwind of complications and consequences with her parents, her boyfriend and her schooling, but she was willing to take this direction of the road. This was finally doing something that _she_ wanted and it felt so damn good.

"Good. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning for breakfast."

"Or, we can just go back to the gelato shop," Michonne recommended, taking a lick from her gelato that was spilling over the cone.

"Breakfast of champions," Rick laughed.

They finished up the rest of their dessert and threw away the trash in a nearby garbage disposal.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" she asked suddenly, her curious eyes on him.

"Of course," he said, wondering what she had on her mind.

"Your parents… have they always been supportive of your love for photography? The fact that you chose to go that route instead of a more stable profession?"

Rick didn't even have to think on it. "Yes. They knew what it was like to have people- their own family- not support them and they didn't want that for me. They've been there for me every step of the way, ever since I first picked up a camera when I was a kid. I can tell that they're not too keen on me struggling for money but it was enough to get me here."

Michonne envied him and wished that her parents did the same. She shook her head in disbelief. "My parents are so different from yours. They have always had these high expectations for me and I always try to deliver, even when it doesn't make me happy."

"But why?"

"Because they're my parents and I want to make them proud."

"By drowning out your own happiness?" Rick questioned, tilting his head to the side. "It's not worth it if it's not something that you want to do in life."

"I know," she said softly, closing her eyes in defeat. "But I'm working on that. This trip here," she motioned to the beautiful city around them. "This was my own choice. They weren't too happy about it, but I didn't care. I was going to come here with or without their opinion."

"Well, I'm glad you did," Rick said, reaching for her hand. He pulled it to her lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

She smiled back. "Me too."

They stopped in the middle of the street, inches away from each other, so close they could feel each other's breath. Michonne's hotel was just up the road, the destination so close yet so far away. The night was about to end but they had many more days of adventure to come.

Rick reached out to caress the side of her face with his thumb, his soft touch causing Michonne to shudder in response. Her body had practically melted. She couldn't imagine what would happen if he had did more than touch...

"How do you say beautiful?" he asked. His gaze seemed to be on her fulls lips now. He licked his own.

"Bellissimo," she said, her tongue rolling perfectly with each syllable.

He gave an affectionate grin as his finger began to trace over every feature of her face: her eyes, her nose and her lips- in that order.

"Bellissimo," he said, his eyes now fixed deeply on her own.

She felt a rush of adrenaline run through her, her cheeks burning hot at his soft touch. They were only inches away from her each other, so close she could feel his breathe on her. So close that she could see the tiny specks of gold in those irresistible blue eyes that she had been admiring all day.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice so low she could barely hear him.

But she did and she nodded her answer, wishing for nothing else more.

His lips were warm and she could still taste the chocolate gelato he had just consumed. The kiss was soft and gentle, much like him in that regard, but even in the sweetness of it, they could both feel a powerful connection between them. So powerful that Michonne pulled away, to take a breath and to make sure that this was what she wanted.

It was.

She rested her forehead against his, both trying to catch their breath. Rick wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in even closer than she could possibly take. She hoped that he couldn't feel the heat coming from off of her body.

"Bellissimo," he whispered again, kissing the top of her head.

She sighed contently, declaring to herself that being in his arms was her favorite place in the world.

She was sure that she would be there all summer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **written by: ldmb**

The saying is that time flies when you're having fun. Michonne discovered that time moved at light speed when you were falling in love. She would have liked to blame the scenery for her current emotional state- romantic stone pathways, winding red brick, canals that shone like stained glass, the gondolas, the food, the wine, the music that seemed to be a very part of this place. She loved this city, truly, she did. However, what she felt about Rick was something else entirely.

A morning together had turned into a day, then a week, then a month, until she lost track completely. Slowly, their two existences had begun to merge, twisting together until she was rarely to be found without him by her side. His room at a Venetian hostel had long since been abandoned in favor of hers. They spent long hours during the day wandering, reading, burning holes in their pockets. Nights they spent pressed together beneath the light linens of her bed, talking until one or both of them could not keep their eyes open any longer.

She fell asleep in his arms, and woke up there as well, always surprised to find how natural it felt. With Rick, she felt silly, adventurous, brave. The threat of the future did not loom over her head; he had no expectations of her beyond her simple company. He was gentle always with her, all soft touches and kind words. It was a treatment she thought only existed in romance novels.

All the while, a sense of dread filled her, increasing with every second that slipped by. This vacation, this city, this newfound freedom, _Rick_ , it was all temporary. Soon, too soon, she would be back on a plane, headed for home.

It was enough to make her want to cry on the spot.

"'Chonne, you ok?" Rick interrupted her musings, kissing her gently on the cheek. He scooted closer to her on the bench of the bus, fixing his eyes on her. The vehicle rocked lazily as it putted down the road. The heat was almost sweltering, but she found she did not mind so much. She adjusted her loose cotton skirt, uncrossing her legs so she could look at the man next to her.

Michonne turned toward him, mustering a smile. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked.

Rick looked unconvinced. "Stop thinking about it," he instructed, draping an arm around her waist. His skin, warm as the air around them, sent a chill through her when it brushed her bare hips. "We're going to the beach today. We're going swimming. We're going to have fun," he reminded her. "We decided we weren't going to be sad."

Michonne reached for him, cupping his cheek. He'd let his stubble run wild over the last few weeks, to her unexpected delight. She kissed him softly, relishing in the gentle scratch of it against her smooth skin. "I remember," she promised him.

"Good," he pushed a stray loc back beneath her wide brimmed hat. "No more thinking about next week. Be here now. With me." He swallowed thickly, focusing on the trinkets in her hair. It was a hodge podge of shells, hand-blown glass beads, charms, and fabric that the two of them had accumulated over the summer, a tangible testament of their time together. Michonne loved the effect, the color, the textures.

"I'm with you," she kissed him again, removing her hat so she could lay her head on his shoulder. She settled against him, realizing something suddenly. "Where's your camera?" she asked, sitting up.

"I left it at home," Rick kissed her forehead.

"Why?" In two months, she'd never seen him without it.

"I'm focusing on you today," he smiled wistfully, a faint blush to his cheeks. The sun had bronzed his skin considerably over the summer, but he always managed to flush beneath her gaze.

Michonne clenched his hand in her own, holding back her tears. She did not release him as they navigated their way off the bus and onto the beaches of Lido. Her melancholy melted away under the rays of the sun. Soon, she and Rick were chasing one another gleefully down the beach, splashing into the low waves until they were absolutely spent. She collapsed on a towel, grinning when Rick fell down beside her. He rubbed her back, smoothing his hand over her skin.

"Rick," she called to him, breathing in the scent of the ocean, "I don't want you to leave."

He exhaled, rolling onto his back before turning to look at her. "I have to, 'Chonne," he took her hand. "So do you."

Michonne began to tear up. She pressed her face into the fabric of the towel beneath her. Home loomed in the distance like a prison sentence. "I don't want to." She'd broken up with Mike in a text message weeks ago, and hadn't turned her phone on since. She knew an onslaught awaited her the moment she got off the plane.

"So come home with me," Rick entreated. He scooted closer to her.

"To New York?" she blinked at him, surprised.

"Why not?" he shrugged. "We've got law schools you could transfer to, good ones, if that's what you want."

Michonne paused, focusing instead on the world around them. Vacationers traipsed by, happy, fulfilled. She studied their faces.

"'Chonne," Rick called her. She looked towards him. "What is it you want?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered. Her life had always been planned for her. There had never been a question of wanting.

He nodded, laying back, seemingly accepting her answer.. "I can't speak for you," he began cautiously. "But I have been with you for months. You might not know what you want, 'Chonne, but I think I know what you _don't_ want. You don't want to go home. You don't want to live under your parents. You don't want Mike."

"I'd never go back to Mike," she protested at once. He'd been beside her in bed when she sent that text, had heard all the tales of his behavior. She'd never seen Rick angry before that or since.

"Why go back at all?" he tilted his head at her.

"Would you leave everything?" she asked him. "Everything you know?"

"You've already left," he reminded her.

"For vacation," she countered. "You don't know my parents. You don't know what they're like." Panic was rising in her at just the thought. She'd spent a lifetime learning to please them. It was all she knew.

"You're right," Rick sighed. He released her hand.

"Don't be mad," Michonne groped for him, clutching his wrists, unwilling to break physical content.

"I ain't mad, Michonne," he rolled towards her. He kissed her shoulder, lingering against her, hiding his face. She felt the moisture gather against her skin. "I'd leave it all for you," he whispered against her, so quietly she nearly didn't hear him. "Ti amo."

The words, spoken in his rough version of Italian, hit her squarely in the chest. Something inside of her contracted. Michonne pulled herself into Rick's arms, ignoring the people around them. She pressed against him, cupping his face between her hands.

"Ti amo anch'io, Rick," she told him. "I love you, so much."

She kissed him desperately, determined to put thoughts of Sacramento from her mind.

-l-l-l-l-

They'd shared a bed all summer, but never like this. It took all the control and patience he could muster to board that bus and bring her back to their room. The moment the door closed, Michonne was on him, kissing him like her life depended on it. Her skin was warm from a day in the sun, smooth and darker now than when they had met. The trinkets in her hair tickled as they grazed him. The hands that had so quickly grown adept at photography, that gesticulated so passionately when she spoke, that had spent a summer exchanging soft touches with his own, now burned through his clothing, desperate to caress him.

Tomorrow, he would be leaving Venice, leaving this bedroom, leaving her. But tonight, she was here in his arms. He would make sure that she would never forget it. He disengaged from her for a moment, setting her down on the floor. She stood before him, breathless.

"Rick?" she questioned, suddenly nervous. Rick smiled at her, kissing her once for good measure.

"Michonne, giacere sul letto," he instructed, drawing on all of the Italian lessons she'd gifted him. He saw the chill run through her, her eyes darkening as she moved to comply. Slowly, she obeyed and lowered herself to the mattress, arching her back as she wiggled upwards toward the headboard.

Rick stood over her for a moment, taking a moment to simply watch her. His fingers inched for his camera, but he refrained. This sight of her would be for his eyes only, preserved only in memory. It would have to be enough.

"Baciami," she requested, offering herself to him. Rick bent immediately to comply, capturing her lips against his own. She wrestled with him, all tongues, and hands, and teeth, and passion, until the both of them were bare against each other.

Rick left his mark, nipping at her dark skin until it flushed beneath him. She returned the favor in kind, scratching at his back as he parted her legs. She cried out as he entered her and he did the same.

"Don't stop," she panted, wrapping her legs around him. "Please Rick, don't stop."

If he had the choice, he'd never stop. But tonight, he hefted her higher in his arms, winding his hips against hers until he was sure he might simply die from the pleasure. He whispered his love for her in every language he could think of, until she was weeping openly against him.

Over and over, until the sun began to rise beyond their window, Rick confessed his love. He memorized the curves of her body, the pitch of her moans of pleasure, the scent of her, the taste of her. Every bit of her he committed to memory until she was spent. She fell asleep against him, exhausted, her fingers twisted around hers.

Rick watched her as the sun rose. Perhaps Michonne did not yet know, but he did. They'd found something rare here in Venice, something unexpected, something to be treasured. In a few hours' time, he would be boarding the plane for Queens. She would go home to Sacramento, to a life that did not deserve her. She had miles to go still, before she found herself.

Rick would wait. Patience was a virtue he possessed.

"Don't go," she cried later, when his bags had been backed, his camera stowed away.

He kissed her in answer, sliding a wrapped box into her hands. He'd bought it one morning without her, leaving her under the guise of going for an early morning run. Hiding it had been a chore, but he suspected it would be worth it. "Promise me you'll enjoy your last week," he told her. "Open this when it's over."

She clutched it to her chest, nodding before hugging him tightly in the middle of the airport. Rick held her back just as fiercely.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he promised her.

"Will I see you again?" she asked.

Rick pulled back, smiling at her. "Ovviamente," he told her in his best Italian. "When you're ready, you know where to look." He released her slowly, his heart breaking at the expression on her face.

"Addio, Rick" she bid him farewell.

"Arrivederci, amore," he vowed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he seized his bag and headed for security, leaving Michonne sobbing quietly in the lobby.

He was grateful that she couldn't see him cry as he boarded the plane.

-l-l-l-l-

Her last week passed more slowly, a retread of places she'd once visited with Rick. She took it in one last time, determined to enjoy it, determined to ignore the ache in her chest.

On her last night, Michonne sat on the bed they'd once shared, and opened the gift Rick had left her. Inside was an old fashioned Canon camera, and a thin book. She cracked the cover, turning the pages as tears streamed down her face.

Rick had catalogued it all, filling the pages with pictures of her. The whole trip, the marketplaces, the squares, the gondolas, their excursions to Burano and Murano, the glass blowing, the gelato, her first photograph of the bridge- it was all preserved in paper. There was only one photo of the two of them though, loose in the back of the album, a selfie Rick had taken of them aboard a water taxi.

Overcome, Michonne lifted it up, studying it. In it, she was draped over his shoulders, her face shaded beneath a floppy hat. Nothing could disguise the smiles on both of their faces. She scarcely recognized herself, colorful and dark and free, a woman who looked like she knew what she wanted in this world. She flipped it over, tearing up, and was surprised to see Rick's neat, blocky handwriting.

" _ **For when you're ready, amore**_ ," it said simply. Beneath it, he'd written his phone number and address.

Michonne dried her eyes. Carefully, she replaced the picture, then packed away his gift with her belongings. She retrieved her phone from the nightstand, turning it on.

Dozens of messages blinked up at her, but she ignored them, punching in Rick's name and saving it. Her task completed, Michonne took a deep breath, stood up, and grabbed her suitcase.

With one, lingering look, she left the hotel and Venice behind. Sacramento, and her future, awaited her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **written by: cranesinthesky**

"Earth to Rick!" Shane waved his hand in front of Rick's face, amused at the faraway look on his friend's face. "Still daydreaming about Venice?"

Rick quickly snapped out of it and chuckled as he shook his head, trying to bring himself back into reality. "I've been back for weeks but it still feels like I was just there yesterday."

"The city of love will do that to you."

"That's Paris, Shane," Rick corrected him, throwing away his tub of fries in a nearby trash can. "But yeah, that's what love will do to you."

They were sitting on a bench in Central Park, reaping the benefits of what they were sure would be one of the last days of warm weather for the year. Fall had officially started a few days ago, but the weather had not budged, giving the people some time to enjoy the sun and short sleeve shirts.

Rick reached for his camera, pulling it up to his face to see if there was anything worth capturing. With the beautiful, luscious, green trees that surrounded them and the skyscrapers that rose high into the sky, New York had nothing on Venice. He missed the colorful buildings and striking blue water, but most of all he missed Michonne.

He missed her smile. He missed her laughter. He missed her curiosity. But most of all, he missed her presence. Waking up next to an empty spot in bed each morning for the last five weeks had been excruciating. There were nights where he tossed and turned, the sounds of the city replacing her soft breathing and a pillow replacing her warm body. Every day he would check his phone to see if there any missed messages or calls from her, praying and hoping that she was ready. But so far, nothing.

He had patience, but each passing day without hearing her voice became harder and harder.

Frustrated, Rick's arms dropped and he placed his camera back in his bag. There was nothing worth capturing here.

"Why don't you just call her, man?" Shane asked, eyeing him closely. When Rick had returned to New York, Shane had sensed a change in his friend from a mile away. He seemed lighter, free, with a touch of sadness to him and Shane immediately knew what it was before Rick could even tell him- he had fallen in love.

Rick let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees. "I don't have her number. Besides, I don't want to stray her into something that she might not even want to have anymore."

"I doubt that's it, brother," Shane assured him. He leaned forward and copied Rick's stance. "You never know unless you try. Doesn't she go to a law school out there? Send her an email through her university. Look her up on facebook. Long lost relatives have been found on social media."

He could see the doubt set in Rick's jaw and he patted him on the back. "Or give it some time. She'll come around soon enough. She's just… figuring stuff out. It ain't easy dealing with overbearing parents. Trust me, I know."

Rick nodded, swallowing his fears away. "You're right, you're right." He would have to wait just a little bit longer. Honestly, he would deal with the pain and wait however long he could for Michonne, as long as it meant that he would see her eventually.

" _Per quanto tempo ci vuole_ ," he thought as he reached for his camera, ready to distract his mind for the rest of the day.

-l-l-l-l-

Michonne took a deep breath as her thumb hovered over Rick's number. Her heart thumped loud and hard in her chest, so hard she feel it in her ears. She closed her eyes and opened them again, her lips quivering as she felt an onset of tears starting.

This had happened every day for the past five weeks.

She had tried to make that call, to write that letter, to book that plane ticket. But every time she got the nerve, she pulled away. Doubt and fear would pool inside of her, overtaking her thoughts and senses. If she did it, she would go against her parents' wishes. She would be throwing away all of their hopes and dreams for her.

But what about her hopes and dreams?

She had spent each night dreaming about Rick, of their time in Venice together. It had felt like a short trip but they made enough memories to last a lifetime. She cherished each moment she had spent with him, each touch and kiss that they had shared. She only wished that she could still have that now.

"Michonne?" Her mother frowned slightly as she tried to get her daughter's attention. "Honey, are you okay?"

Michonne jumped, glancing around as if she had forgotten where she was. She was standing in the kitchen with her mother, prepping for dinner. They were expecting guests that night, two longtime friends of her parents who also happened to be partners at one of the most established law firms in Sacramento.

She already knew what her parents were trying to do and she dreaded it.

"I'm fine, mom," she assured her mother. She set her cell phone down on the counter and resumed cutting the tomatoes for the caprese salad. The dish made Michonne smile; it had been one of Rick's favorite meals to devour in Venice.

"You've been distracted the last few weeks," her mother said, glancing at her as she covered the bowl of unmade yeast rolls with a dish towel so that they could rise. "It seems like something is on your mind."

"I'm fine," Michonne repeated, refusing to look into her mother's eyes. One look and her mother would know. Mother's intuition and all of that. "Just.. school has me stressed out."

"Well, thankfully this is your last year," her mother said proudly. Michonne could hear the smile in her voice. "And if you make a good impression with Mr. Blake and Ms. Harrison tonight, you might just have a job waiting for you after you pass the bar."

Michonne held back an exhale. "Mom, what if I don't want to take that job?"

Her mother did not look at her as she walked over to the oven to check on the chicken in the oven. "Don't be silly. This is the perfect opportunity for you to take. You have been working on this for years."

"But I don't want this!" The words fell from Michonne's lips before she could stop them.

Her mother turned in surprise, her eyebrows raised. She stared at her for a few minutes before abandoning the chicken and walking over to her daughter. She placed a hand over hers, though it wasn't done in a comforting motion.

"Michonne," she started, her voice low and firm. "Your head has not been in the right place since you have gotten back from Venice. Actually, before you even left. You broke up with Mike. You have been daydreaming every chance you get. It's not like you." She reached out to tuck a stray loc behind her ear. "I don't know what happened over there or who you met, but I suggest you get back to reality before you let all of these great opportunities pass you by. If you do, you're going to regret it."

She gave her a kiss on the cheek before going back to the oven.

Michonne felt an ache in her chest, her mother's words ringing in her ears. She was right. She could not let the great opportunities pass her by; she would regret it later in life and she could not let that happen. She shouldn't have let her family hold her back the first time.

She knew what she had to do.

-l-l-l-l-

Rick sighed as he walked through the busy streets of Queens. It was midday and people were rushing to the destinations in that quick paced fashion that he had known for so long. He had spent many years here in the city, but that was one thing he had never picked up on; he would rather walk idly and take everything in, his eye often capturing something new worth remembering.

His camera in hand, he was on the way home from the studio. There was an art show where his work would be showcased within the next week and he needed one more photograph to complete his portfolio. Something candid, something clear. His photographs from his trip to Venice- and of Michonne- were a sure thing, but he needed just this one last picture.

He raised his camera many times but could not seem to get the perfect shot. He walked a few blocks more, until he circled back around to his apartment in the old brownstone at the corner. He raised his camera again, lingering around the people that were gathered on the steps of the brownstones that surrounded his, laughing and talking with that deep Queens accent. He was just about to capture that shot when a movement near his brownstone caught his attention.

He could only see her back but she stuck out instantly amongst the locals. Her skin was a dark, lovely brown, practically shining underneath the bright sun. Her locs were tossed over one shoulder. She clutched her suitcase in one hand and her cell in the other. Her head was turned sideways as she read the number on the front of his building.

She was there. She had found what she wanted.

Michonne sensed his eyes on her and she immediately turned around. She gave a wide smile, one that reached her eyes and maybe even the tips of her toes. He wasn't sure how much time had passed as they stared at each other, each still in disbelief that she was actually _there_ , just feet away from him.

He finally walked up to her and pulled her into his arms, burying his face into her shoulder. He took in the smell of her, his senses dancing happily as it brought him back to their days and nights in Venice. He began to think he was dreaming but when she began to shower the side of his face with kisses from her soft, full lips, he knew that this had to be real.

"You came," he said, staring down at her with love in his eyes. He touched her shoulder and then her cheek and then her lips.

"I did," she relished in his touch, closing her eyes. God, she missed this. She missed him. "I'm sorry it took me so long, but I just-"

He silenced her by putting a finger to her lips. "Don't apologize," he told her. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

Michonne nodded. She would tell him the story later. Of how she took her mother's advice and took this opportunity before it could pass her by and booked a red eye for that night. How she packed her bags and left before Mr. Blake and Ms. Harrison even stepped foot into the house. How she turned off her phone before anyone could contact her and try to persuade her to come back.

She had figured it out. She knew what she wanted and what she wanted was Rick. Every day for the rest of her life.

"I'll finish school in California first," she told him, her fingers running through the curls at the nape of his neck. He needed a haircut, but she actually preferred his hair like this. "But I plan to move out here the day after graduation. Find a part time job and study for the bar exam."

"And your parents?"

She shrugged, unconcerned. "They'll be upset but I'm a grown woman. I need to do what's best for me."

He smiled and pulled her face to his. He kissed her deeply, making up for all of the time that they were apart. "I'm so glad you're here."

She rested her forehead against his. "You led me here, to this point," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "Grazie. Thank you," she added the english translation, hoping he hadn't forgotten their Italian lessons while she was away.

"I haven't forgotten," he said, as if he could hear her thoughts. He ran a hand up and down her back, the smile permanently etched on his face. "Ti amo tanto," he whispered in her ear.

"Ti amo anch'io," she said before placing her lips on his. "Forever."


End file.
